


Double Booking

by foolish_mortal



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Community: help_japan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolish_mortal/pseuds/foolish_mortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the help_japan fest. General prompt: Cain makes an apology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Booking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chef_hector](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chef_hector).



"Look, I said I was sorry," Cain started but Ambrose cut him off with a dark look. Cain thought of soldiering on past it, but they were in Ambrose's domain right now, in the dark recesses of his laboratories, and Cain knew better than to take an opponent on his home ground.

"You're sorry," Ambrose repeated. He grabbed a strange multi-headed spanner from his toolbox and began to work on the giant contraption of gears and wiring that was sitting at one end of his workbench. His lab had rows and rows of workbenches, all covered with half-formed machines and laboratory glassware. Ambrose turned some of the bolts on the machine with a vicious twist, and Cain winced at the sound.

"You're going to strip the threads on those bolts if you're not careful," he warned.

"Yes, thank you, Wyatt," Ambrose replied curtly and marched away into one of the large lab storage rooms muttering about newfangled equipment.  
Cain sighed and followed him into storage, knowing he would never find Ambrose in there if he lost him. The smallest of the storage rooms were easily the size of Cain's old house, never mind the large echoing storage rooms in the back of the lab that housed a great deal of tall shapes that were shrouded in long secretive dust cloths. Ambrose, along with being the O.Z's most celebrated scientist, engineer, and politically savvy queen's advisor, was of course a brilliant architect as well, and he had designed the engineering and science wings of the palace himself. He was the only one who knew all of the twists and turns and hidden shortcuts. Not for the first time, Cain felt almost overwhelmed being married to Ambrose.

Cain wheeled around in the dim storage corridor for a moment till he heard an angry crash off to the side. He found Ambrose wading through an ankle-deep pile of tools and machinery that had fallen off the top shelves of a tall cabinet. Ambrose cursed under his breath and made for a vehicular strøm-box. He knelt and got a firm purchase around the frame before straightening up slowly. Cain could see the tension in his arms.

"Do you want help with that?" Cain asked, walking forward.

"I don't need help," Ambrose grunted out and slowly shuffled past him with the strøm-box. His knuckles were white, but he showed no signs of putting the box down.

"I know you don't need help." Cain had once seen Ambrose carry an industrial-grade durescelator two miles back from the scrap yard to their house.  
"Then why did you ask?" Ambrose managed. His face was turning slightly red, and Cain didn't know whether it was from carrying the strøm-box or from his temper.

"Sweetheart—"

"Oh no. Don't you sweetheart me, Wyatt," Ambrose interrupted. "After you, you of all people went behind my back—"

"That wasn't the way of it," Cain protested. "I just asked the Queen if the threshing holiday was a good time to hold the drill practices for the new recruits, and she said yes. It was last minute."

"And did you maybe stop to think that the holiday was the science and engineering conference that I've been talking about for oh, months?" Ambrose asked. "The first one we've been able to have since the Witch was defeated, the first time my colleagues have been able to come out of hiding? Great Ozma, Wyatt, you can't just reschedule something like that."

"The military's important to keeping the peace," Cain replied. "Not just to enforce the laws, but to draft the rebels in with the royal army, keep them out of trouble now that they've got no one to fight. And believe me, they'll cause trouble if they sit around on their hands for too long."

Ambrose heaved the strøm-box onto one of the workbenches and then leaned over to rest his hands on his knees. "I'm not…discounting that," he gasped out. "But why do you have to hold recruitment during my conference."

"It's the only time folks on the Grain get time between harvests. Don't suppose you've got any farming scientists coming to your conference."

"It just so happens that Dr. Malkins is studying the germination of risefera in Grain farming communities," Ambrose replied.

Cain sighed and didn't try to argue that one. "I'll think of something," he promised instead. "I will."

"It had better be quick," Ambrose warned. "You've got two days."

 

Cain grinned at all the new recruits assembling on the imperial drill field. He could see a few familiar faces here and there, old tinmen and people from the resistance. Some of the older people were trying to assemble into lines, but the younger recruits were throwing them off, and the lines were dipping crazily into a jumbled mass in the middle.

Cain tapped the VAF-something-something-made-your-voice-louder that Ambrose had clamped to his wrist before the assembly. He held it to his mouth. "Morning," he said was pleased to hear how his voice boomed across the field. The recruits shut up immediately. "We're going to do a little exercise today to see how you work together. Follow me."

It was funny how they all scrambled to follow him towards the palace, but Cain refrained from laughing, afraid that the booming ha-ha-ha would scatter darkly across the field. "Now if there's one thing you folks learned during the Witch's occupation, it was guerilla warfare, am I right? Learning to strike at random, use the terrain to your advantage." He could hear a few murmured assents in the crowd behind him. "But one thing you didn’t learn was organised warfare. Taking orders from a hierarchy. You didn't learn about fighting in numbers. So what we're going to do is—"

"—so let's pretend there's a siege going on in the palace, and you have to defend it. You don't have time for inventions, you have to build defences fast," Ambrose's voice echoed from the other side of the palace. "You have three hours to go into the laboratories I've designated and build something to fight off enemy invaders. This is a continuous process, gentlemen! If a machine fails, you must replace it even if it endangers your life. If there is a break-in, you must divert your attentions. This isn't just about building machines."

Cain tapped his wrist. "You hear that?" he said. "When you signed in today, all of you got a piece of paper that told you your rank and what unit you would be serving under. You've got three hours to assemble yourselves, form a plan, and give these folks hell."

"Why, Commander Cain," Ambrose's voice echoed towards him. "Fancy running into you."

"Hi, sweetheart," Cain replied.

There was an embarrassed silence at the other end, and Cain was pretty sure he could hear the sound of the scientists laughing. Ambrose fumbled with his voice amplifier. "Er, let's talk about dying."

"Let's talk about dying," Cain agreed. "If you die, meaning if you get orange dye on you from one of those machines—"

"Or from one of the military's false weapons. False, gentlemen! I've checked them myself," Ambrose assured. Cain was sure the scientists were starting to get antsy.

"You get to sit out, and we'll put you to work," Cain finished. "There will be no lethal force issued here. Don't mean you can't leave a few bruises for them to write home about." Some of the men snickered, so he tapped his wrist again. "Listen up!" he barked. "Ambrose and I will be circulating to see how you're getting along. There will be evaluations. So you'd better show us your best." He paused, and heard Ambrose's expectant silence on the other side. "Get moving!" he shouted.

"Marking time at zero hours!" Ambrose shouted on the other side, and then Cain was too busy trying not to get trampled to think about anything else.

 

"Commander Cain, sir," one of the recruits said breathlessly and almost knocked into him. He stopped and tried to salute, but Cain waved it away irritably. "Man down in the western corridor near the kitchens. Should I—"

But Cain was already running and didn't hear the rest of the sentence. He should have known doing the war games was a bad idea—if it wasn't an overeager recruit it would be Ambrose's idiot scientists with their pet machines. As he went through the corridors, he wasn't sure which side was winning. The halls were covered in orange paint, and he knew D.G. would kill him later on for not inviting her to participate. He stepped on a piece of half-broken machinery that whirred and tried to clamp onto his leg, and he skidded in paint and managed to get it off before it could do any damage.

He could see a man lying on his back at an awkward angle at the end of the hall. He craned his neck up when he heard Cain's footsteps going down the hall.  
"Sir!" he shouted. "Sir, don't! It's a—"

Cain felt something catch into his leg, and suddenly he was hanging by his leg from the ceiling and watching an upside-down Ambrose emerge from a doorway with a smug expression on his face.

"Decoy?" Cain asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course," Ambrose said. "Derring was a soldier before he was a scientist, but he can still act the part."

"Clever," Cain said. "But now you're a man down for evaluations."

Ambrose shrugged. "My side is winning anyway. You really ought to train your people better."

Cain shrugged, unconcerned. "Wasn't really about training, more about seeing who's where. Did you see Jeb's unit?"

"They were impressive," Ambrose admitted. "They took out a lot of our machines before we were able to subdue them."

"That's my boy," Cain said proudly. He looked down to the rope looped around his foot and then back to Ambrose. "Now you have to admit my idea was pretty good."

"Yes it was," Ambrose agreed. "I haven't seen the scientists this excited in ages." He grabbed Cain's ears and pulled him forward. "I didn't marry the smartest man in the O.Z. for nothing."

"Thought that was you," Cain replied.

"Mm," Ambrose said and pressed a quick no-nonsense kiss against his mouth. "I have my moments."

"Consorting with the enemy! Traitor!" someone from inside the kitchen shouted, and suddenly they were surrounded by orange paint.

"Augh," Ambrose said and fell over into a puddle of paint with an audible plop. He came up with paint in his hair, his face a mask of dripping bright orange. Cain laughed and laughed until he cried, even as Ambrose wiped some of the paint from his face and reached over to rub it into his hair.

"I really do have the best ideas," Cain sighed and waited for Ambrose to forgive him and cut him down. He decided he could wait.


End file.
